


Journey

by MsSolo



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSolo/pseuds/MsSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the X-Jet isn't available, and the students need chaperoning from A to B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iceman

**Iceman**

Bobby was more than a little pissed off. First, Jean Paul had complained about not being allowed to fly himself. That had been countered with some bullshit about a student teacher ratio. Then, he'd complained that they weren't taking the X-Jet. That had been countered with (a) not all of the students would fit and (b) what kind of school uses a high tech military grade aircraft for a school trip? And finally, he's complained they were in economy. At that point even the ever patient Kurt had told him to shut up.

What really irritated Bobby, though, was the fact Jean Paul wasn't complaining about sitting next to him. If he had, then Bobby could have complained as well and swapped with Annie, who always seemed more than happy to put up with the Canadian's arrogant whining. But if Bobby complained, he knew someone, someone, would accuse him of homophobia. He couldn't even being to comprehend where that idea had come from originally, but apparently if you dislike a gay guy for being arrogant and whiny and out-staying his welcome clearly it had nothing to do with any of those things and you were homophobic. Or gay.

Bobby stretched, sighed, stretched, put on his headphones, stretched, played with the radio, stretched, took off his headphones, stretched, played with Jean Paul's radio to see if he'd notice, stretched, yawned and sighed.

"Please do not tell me you are bored already?" Jean Paul smirked.

Bobby couldn't think of anything to say immediately, so he just ignored the older man.

"The film is Sleepless in Seattle," Jean Paul offered, skimming through the in-flight magazine.

"I wanted to sit by a window," Bobby grumbled.

Jean Paul shrugged. "I wanted to sit on the wing, literally. We do not always get what we- we want in this life."

Bobby frowned at the hitch in Jean Paul's voice and the vacant look in his eyes. "The students are fine. Look at them. I don't see why we have to sit in the middle just to babysit. I can't even see half of them."

"Are you always this grouchy, or is just when I'm around?" Jean Paul asked coolly.

Bobby shut up and tried the headphones again. Annie was glaring at him. Damn women and their love of gay men. Jean Paul wasn't _that_ great to hang out with. Didn't even have a decent taste in clothes.

He yawned again. Stupid long haul school trips. Wolverine was the only one who even spoke Japanese. Except, well, it all sounded rather cool. Japan. He'd been there a few times, but it wasn't as though the X men had ever had much opportunity for sightseeing. Bobby grimaced at the back of the seat in front of him. It was exciting enough for him to have got little to no sleep last night.

"How long's this flight?" he asked Jean Paul abruptly.

Jean Paul shrugged. "Long?" he offered.

"Might was well get some sleep, I guess," Bobby sighed. "Pity it's not a night flight."

"You might want to check with Cyclops if he minds you putting the seat back," Jean Paul pointed out.

Bobby twisted in his seat to peer over the top. The red glasses glinted ominously under the artifical lighting. He sank back into his seat.

"I'll sleep upright," he said.

After a bit of squirming, a bit of fidgeting and rather a lot of kicking the seat in front (which turned out to belong to Ororo, who turned to give him a very dirty look) Bobby was on the verge of giving up on the idea when Jean Paul said, unexpectedly, "You can put the arm up and lean on me, if you want."

Bobby flipped the arm up before he'd even thought about it. He paused just before he settled, something in Jean Paul's face giving him cause to hesitate.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Wh- Oui, sure," Jean Paul flashed him a very brief grin.

"Not worried I'll wrinkle your shirt or anything?"

"As long as you do not drool I think I will be fine," Jean Paul grinned. "Though if it keeps you still I might even tolerate that."

Bobby pulled a face at him before resting his head against Jean Paul's shoulder. It grew uncomfortable quickly, so they tried a few other positions, with Jean Paul eventually wrapping one arm around Bobby's shoulders and slouching in his seat to let Bobby rest his head on his stomach. That was comfortable.

* * *

Bobby drifted in and out of sleep. He was on his way back in when the stewardess approached them with a trolley, loud enough to keep him out but not loud enough for him to wake up properly and complain. He pressed the side of his face closer into Jean Paul's expensive shirt.

"Aww," the stewardess cooed somewhere above him, "you two make such a cute couple."

"Eh, thanks."

In the moment it took Bobby to make up his mind as to whether he would object to this or not, the moment passed and the conversation moved on. He kept his eyes shut, and listened.

"Never thought you'd actually be on one of my flights. I read your book, you know. I just wish I had a copy now."

"I would carry copies with me, but that always seemed to cross the line between proud and vain."

The girl giggled. _You don't need a bag of books,_ Bobby commented internally, _to look vain. You manage that all by your little self._

"All the girls on the flight would just love to get something signed. We don't normally get celebrities in economy."

"Well, I am not really a celebrity."

 _False modesty_ , Bobby decided.

"Oh, of course you are! And so handsome. We were just saying the other day how cruel it is that all the really handsome men are gay. It's like someone wants the genes out of the pool."

"The lifeguard is also homosexual."

The giggle hurt Bobby's ears, and he couldn't stop himself from flinching. Jean Paul's hand settled on his head and started to stroke his hair. Again, Bobby debated objecting, but it felt nice and if he objected now they'd realise he'd been awake the whole time. Or reasons like that, but in a different order.

"If you have got a napkin and a pen, I would be happy to oblige."

"Oh would you? You're such a sweetheart. Not like that actor guy we had on here the other day. I don't even know what show he's in, but he made such a fuss. I told him, if he wanted that kind of service he can damn well fly first class. You get what you pay for, I said, and no one should expect special treatment just because they're in some la-de-da foreign show no one's ever heard of."

"So if I tip well I get the nice wine and a real glass?" Jean Paul sounded hopeful. The girl giggled again.

There was the sound of paper being rumpled and then a square of pressure on the side of Bobby's head. He realised what was happening just as the pen began to tickle his scalp.

"Who shall I sign it to?"

"Oh! Mandi. With an 'i'. That would be just swell."

Bobby felt Jean Paul move as he handed the paper back and heard the trolley squeak away down the aisle. As inclined as he was to think about everything that had just happened, he was still comfortable and Jean Paul was stroking his hair again. Bobby wasn't an idiot, he knew when the fates were conspiring against him. You take advantage of a situation like that. Jean Paul seemed to agree, because the stroking slowed and Bobby felt a weight settle over him. The older man began to snore gently.

Wolverine was snarling at the airport security when it occurred to Bobby to check his passport. The stewardesses had given their documents a cursory look through on the plane, but that guy up ahead looked like he was likely to demand another look. As Bobby flicked through the pages, admiring his collection of stamps, a photograph fell out. He caught it and frowned at it for a brief second before breaking into a smile.

The stewardess was right, they were a cute couple. And Bobby was sure that Jean Paul wasn't nearly so irritating when he was asleep.


	2. Northstar

**Northstar**

Jean Paul threw himself into the cramped seat. He had always hated being told what to do, but being told what not to do chafed more. He wasn't allowed to fly on his own, unless he was willing to carry a student all the way to Japan. He wasn't allowed to pilot the X-jet unless he could rustle up a few more similar fighters to take the rest of the students. And he wasn't allowed to sit in first class, even if he paid for his own ticket, because apparently he was being rude and apparently that was a good enough reason.

There was one perk, though. Bobby Drake, all to himself, for hours upon hours. All he had to do was not fantasise about seducing Bobby into the Mile High Club was he was in such close proximity to the young, straight, man. That was proving the toughie. He pressed the headphones over his ears and flicked through the 'stations'.

On the other hand, Bobby did fidget a lot. Jean Paul wondered if he'd be that active in bed, and mentally chastised himself very firmly. It was an irritating aspect of his personality, not an endearing one. At least, it would be by around the fourth hour or so.

Bobby turned up the volume on the radio.

Make that minute.

"Please don't tell me you're bored already?" Jean Paul sneered.

Bobby didn't deign to answer. Jean Paul chose to ignore his rudeness, and made another attempts at pursuing conversation, having abandoned the headphones hastily. The boy tended to sit still when he was talking. Apparently he was pretty, but not bright enough to concentrate on both moving and talking at once.

"The film is Sleepless in Seattle," he suggested. The reviews made it look tolerable, though Jean Paul got the impression the reviewer had been rather transfixed by Meg Ryan to actually understand the plot.

"I wanted to sit by a window," Bobby grumbled.

 _And I wanted to sit in First class_ , Jean Paul snapped mentally. He'd have said it out loud, but he had no desire of reminding his teammate of that just yet. Their relationship was icy enough as it was. Eventually he settled for: "I wanted to sit on the wing, literally." His joke amused him, and he smirked. "We do not always get what we," the smirk disappeared and Jean Paul regretted ever starting the sentence, "we want in this life," he finished weakly. He stared dully at the seat in front and prayed he wasn't blushing.

"The students are fine," Bobby whined, apparently having failed to notice Jean Paul's odd behaviour. "Look at them. I don't see why we have to sit in the middle just to babysit. I can't even see half of them."

Jean Paul secretly agreed, but he was walking on thin enough ice as it was. "Are you always this grouchy, or is just when I am around?" No need to make Bobby even more suspicious of his intentions. Annie had told him that the boy hadn't even realised he was gay previously, and might even be homophobic. _At least he hasn't asked to change seats,_ Jean Paul consoled himself.

Bobby shut up after that, and Jean Paul concentrated of breathing and thinking about, oh, potatoes, and women, and Logan naked. It seemed to work.

"How long's this flight?" Bobby intruded on his thoughts. Jean Paul was actually quite relieved. The imagery was getting a bit 'creative'.

He shrugged. "Long?" he offered.

"Might was well get some sleep, I guess," Bobby sighed. "Pity it's not a night flight." Jean Paul's gut clenched at the idea of sharing seats on a night flight with Bobby. To wake up next to him. To share a few solitary moments when the rest of the plane was asleep. To just lightly wrap an arm around him while he slept and pretend, for a few precious moments, that for once in his life he had got what he wanted.

"You might want to check with Cyclops if he minds you putting the seat back," he said, glancing through the gap in the seats. Apparently this was an invitation for Bobby to turn and stick his butt in Jean Paul's face. He stopped breathing.

"I'll sleep upright," Bobby sighed, sinking back down. Jean Paul snapped his head around to stare across the aisle at a startled Jubilee. Next to him he heard movement, and he felt Bobby brush against him seven times before it became unbearable.

"You can put the arm up and lean on me, if you want," he suggested desperately.

Bobby flipped the arm between them upright and paused. Jean Paul froze. That wasn't forward, was it? It wasn't obvious?

"You sure?" Bobby asked cautiously.

"Wh- Oui, sure," Jean Paul panicked He had no idea whether he wanted this or not.

"Not worried I'll wrinkle your shirt or anything?" Bobby wrinkled his nose.

"As long as you do not drool I think I will be fine," Jean Paul forced a smile. "Though if it keeps you still I might even tolerate that."

Which would be worse, prolonged contact, or unpredictable little brushes? Those brushes were to tantalising. Titillating. Bobby's head on his upper arm was warm and heavy, and safe. Unfortunately, he could feel his arm going dead. Unable to help himself, he moved it, and let Bobby fall against his chest. Now he had it loosely slung across Bobby's back, which wasn't too bad, but Bobby's head was sinking lower and lower and he didn't have a hope in hell of surviving _that_ kind of torture. He sank in his seat quickly, ignoring the ache in his spine, and managed to halt Bobby's slow slide somewhere around the stomach area.

He had to breathe carefully to keep Bobby still. Slowly he relaxed. The warm weight was like an anchor. It was like being curled up in bed with someone on a Sunday morning, debating with yourself whether to stay in that nice warm bed or make a brief foraging run for a paper and cup of coffee.

Jean Paul thought he'd learned to stay away from those trains of thought, but apparently not. It seemed like forever since he'd had someone he could just put his arms around. And if the loneliness wasn't enough, he couldn't even sate his sex drive at Xavier's. He'd gone out once or twice, but he never managed to find anyone, even for one night. Jean Paul knew perfectly well that this had nothing to do with his looks. He was a catch, simple as that, but right now there was a distinct reluctance to be caught. And the cause of that reluctance was firmly snuggled against his abdomen.

Each wall of self-restraint slipped away with those sleeping breaths. Jean Paul closed his eyes and imagined every situation he'd come up with through the lonely nights. He caressed Bobby's back and shoulders and thought of leaving lessons early under false pretences and midnight picnics on the roof and ice-skating on the bedroom floor and Sunday mornings, one after another as far as the eye could see.

The person in these fantasies was Bobby-not-Bobby, as Jean Paul had dubbed the character. Looked just like Bobby. Sounded like Bobby. Moved like Bobby. Otherwise, didn't act or speak like Bobby in any way. The fact this character was gay was rather a hint that the whole thing was entirely fictional. Also the lack of any tension other than sexual between himself and this Bobby-not-Bobby. Jean Paul opened his eyes and stroked Bobby's shirt, trying to ignore the bulge in his trousers since there was no way he could get up now without it being obvious.

Bobby shifted in his sleep, towards that bulge, as the stewardess came trundling down the aisle with a cart full of drinks. Jean Paul eyed the wine suspicious. Might be better off with straight spirits if he wanted to dull his 'appetite' just now, even if they usually held no appeal for him.

The busty girl stopped next to them. She frowned at Jean Paul for a moment, then her eyes lit up. She blushed, and eventually managed, "Aww!" Jean Paul cocked an eyebrow, praying she couldn't see his erection from that angle. "You two make such a cute couple," she explained.

Jean Paul blinked, hard. His hand fisted in Bobby's shirt. "Eh," he stammered blankly, "thanks."

Even as the word slipped from his tongue he wanted to take it back. He had no idea which of his fellow X men might be awake, might have heard the lie. He wasn't sure which would be worse, being caught out and called on it or having people believe it. Either way, he'd have to talk fast to explain it to Bobby when he woke.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he cursed internally, glancing at the man in his lap. He could have sworn Bobby moved, and that awakened new terrors. All Bobby had to do was open his eyes to see evidence of Jean Paul's feelings towards him. It didn't matter what he'd heard.

He became aware that the stewardess was talking. "...wish I had a copy now."

Ah, the book. Thank god, it was an easy save. "I would carry copies with me, but that always seemed to cross the line between proud and vain." He smiled charmingly.

"All the girls on the flight would just love to get something signed," she enthused. "We don't normally get celebrities in economy."

"Well, I am not really a celebrity." Jean Paul actually blushed. He missed this kind of adoration. After years as an athlete, then the feedback he'd got after he outted himself, and finally the book signings, he'd always had some kind of attention lavished on him. It reminded him that there were some people he'd already pleased.

"Oh, of course you are!" He grinned at her large-eyed insistence. "And so handsome. We were just saying the other day how cruel it is that all the really handsome men are gay. It's like someone wants the genes out of the pool."

The cliché grated on Jean Paul, but he played along gamely. "The lifeguard is also homosexual."

There was a moment's silence as the girl processed this, then she got the joke and laughed loudly. Bobby definitely moved that time and Jean Paul hastily covered his exposed ear. He really didn't need Bobby waking just now, though the strain was killing his erection just as it was killing him. He could feel the tension in the body against him and now the laughter had died to a shrill giggle he dared move his hand. Gently he stroked the fine hair, until Bobby relaxed again and even pressed closer. It made Jean Paul's stomach flip.

The girl continued to hover. In an attempt to get her moving again Jean Paul suggest, "If you have got a napkin and a pen, I would be happy to oblige."

"Oh would you? You're such a sweetheart." She began to root around her trolley for the desired items, still talking. "Not like that actor guy we had on here the other day. I don't even know what show he's in, but he made such a fuss. I told him..."

Jean Paul tuned out. It wasn't that she wasn't nice, and he was sure if he was straight he would have loved to have the view he was getting down her top. While she talked and searched he concentrated on the feel of Bobby's hair between his fingers.

"...no one should expect special treatment just because they're in some la- de-da foreign show no one's ever heard of," she finished, handing him a pen and paper expectantly.

"So if I tip well I get the nice wine and a real glass?" Jean Paul smiled, eyeing the bottle on the trolley doubtfully. He knew he should have asked for an upgrade as soon as they got on board, regardless of what everyone else would have thought. "Who shall I sign it to?"

"Oh! Mandi. With an 'i'. That would be just swell."

He glanced around for something to lean on, but Bobby's head was in the wrong place to lower the tray. On a whim, now he was much calmer downstairs, he decided to risk it and, pressing the paper carefully against the side of Bobby's head, wrote quickly and lightly. Bobby didn't move, though Jean Paul wondered whether he was asking for a heart attack winding himself up like this. Maybe he did want Bobby to wake up and find out how he felt. Maybe he just wanted to get it all over with. Maybe he was entirely insane, since the idea he might want those things to happen suggested that somewhere, somehow, he still had a pinprick of hope that there could be a potential relationship.

He squashed the pinprick and handed back the napkin. He was slightly put out when the girl didn't say thank you, but she did hand him a tiny plastic cup of silty wine. Grimacing, he drank it in one go.

He was surprised at the exhaustion he felt. He could feel the knots in his shoulders and the tightness all along his spine. He hadn't realised how wound up he'd been by that. What idiot pretends he's dating the guy he fancies to a complete stranger anyway? He scolded himself sleepily. He could have woken up at any minute.

His eyelids drooped, some combination of the poor wine and his highly- strung mood of moments before taking his last reserves out of him. Sinking a little lower in the chair and lowering his head against Bobby's back he began to stroke that soft hair again. His fingers stilled and he began to snore.

* * *

When the stewardess woke him to check his documents she winked at him. Bobby objected sleepily to being woken, making Jean Paul's heart clench. Bobby mumbled some thank you for his services as a pillow and stretched, cracking each vertebra separately, or so it sounded to Jean Paul. His imagination refused to stretch far enough to consider it cute, but the cat like satisfaction of Bobby's face forced him to admit it would have been far more irritating had anyone else done it.

As they wandered through check out, herding half asleep and over excited teens towards the doors ahead of them, Jean Paul lost his grip on his passport. Annie dove for it first, almost pushing Ororo over, and handed it back to Jean Paul open. He frowned at her and glanced down. Tucked between the pages was a Polaroid of himself and Bobby. He forced a smile for Annie and tucked the passport and picture away. Just another reminder of what he couldn't have and why he was an idiot for wanting it. Glancing across the hoard of teens Jean Paul saw Bobby looking at his own passport and smiling. His relief was palpable as he concluded that there was no way Bobby had a copy as well.


End file.
